Crazy is as crazy does.

I am going to preface this post with this:  I love my mother.  She is the best.  She sacrificed a lot for me.  I’d die for her.

Okay.  You needed to read that so that when I tell you I almost punched her in the face you won’t think I am an awful person.


Last year, for my 40th (yes, I’m that old) birthday, I had planned to get another tattoo.  Since I have my favorite flower on my right ankle, I asked my mom what her favorite flower was so that I could put that on my other ankle.  In honor of her.

She said it was an African Violet.


I immediately said, “What’s your second favorite?”  I mean, what the hell?  Bo-ring.

See for yourself:

Look at me, I am dull.


But…I gave it some thought and I figured if that was it, that was it.  I knew a girl who was an artist and I asked her if she could design something.  So, she did.  I showed it to my mom, asked this girl to make an adjustment, and then paid her for the design.

Then, as is the way sometimes, shit happened.  Bills to pay.  Blah blah.  And I did not get the tattoo done.



So, this year I decided to finally get it done and I called my mom to tell her I was making the appointment.

Here’s the conversation that ensued:

Me: “So, I am going to get that tattoo finally!  Of your favorite flower!  African Violet.”

Mom: “No, my favorite flowers are pansies.”

Me: “What?  I thought it was African Violet.”

Mom: “No, it’s pansies.”

Me: “Well, that’s very different than an African Violet, and when I asked you over a year ago that’s what you told me it was.”

Mom: “I never would have said that.  Because it’s not.  It’s pansies.”

Me: “Mother.  That is what you told me a year ago.”

Mom: “Whatever.”


I.  Will.  Choke.  A.  Bitch.


I got my tattoo done and I love it.  It’s very bright and colorful PANSIES.  I am glad.

And I may not have actually wanted to punch my mother if it was not for this…

I went up to see her over Thanksgiving (and showed her my new tattoo of her FAVORITE flower).  I started to explain this tale to her boyfriend and when I got to the part where I stated she had originally told me “African Violet”, she bent over me where I was seated as if I was 6 years old, put her hands on her hips and loudly said, “I DID NOT”.

Punchpunchpunch (in my mind – lest you think I actually started pummeling her).


At this point, her boyfriend started jumping up and down saying, “she does this to me all the time!”


Only after I said I had proof (in an email where I told the artist girl who did the useless African Violet tattoo design that “my mother would like it to be darker”) did my mother finally calm down and say, “ok, I sort of recall that”.


But JESUS.  I get that she may have genuinely forgot.  But why would she think I’d make that up????

Nevertheless, she is now immortalized on my body.  Christ almighty.

Not a motherfucking African Violet.

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